Sweetly does that Bell ring

It is Saturday evening here in Soglio, frazione of Orero, in the former Irish pub, next to the Church of St. Michael of Soglio. So, friends, we are making progress. By this I mean that I have no accidents to report-well- other than John accidentally falling through an 800year old hole in the floor of a bell tower. And other than our inability to maintain internet access – small potatoes really. And of course, let’s not mention eating a bit more wine, and more seconds of fabulous pasta than some of us planned on – that isn’t an accident though so completely erase that last part.

“I have a friend” who ate too much pasta in Italy, unlike those other folks who march through Italy on a salad – my friend ate a generous amount, and then committed the ultimate sin of dropping big pillows of shredded real Parmesan cheese atop. That isn’t done here, but they put it out when they see us Americaners coming, I think.

Also, one problem is when dinnertime comes around- about 8 or 9 traditionally, we are all ready for bed. I’ve always been taught that you don’t eat within 3 or 4 hours of laying horizontal – not good for digestion. People here are still talking and eating, and having a fine time, children too, at ten o’clock, when I want to be snug on my pillow.

It’s like our cappuccino. They don’t drink cappuccino after one morning cup, and almost never a second one. They drink espresso. In tiny glasses. There are no mugs here… None. Niente. Two or three isn’t much, really, but people gawk, agog at our lack of refinement.

So on with the good stuff. We planned on a trip to the second church of our birthright. It is a church also named St. Michele (de Romaggi), in the town of Romaggi. It works like this, we found out from someone. The church builds the town, not the other way around. The town does not build the church. So that explains all of the little hilltop churches, of which Romaggi is one, and Soglio is another. The towns without a church don’t have a town unless they join with a parish nearby. So that makes for geographic units that are shaped a lot like our American odd redistricting units that don’t follow geometric shapes.

Our own Soglio is 1000 meters. Not really a big unit, but it draws from several equally small units that do a riff on the name of the parish.

So, after that side-road, we went to Romaggi, another hilltop church with a total population of only 40 persons. One GGGrandmother was Maria Romaggi, and one (of 8 total) GGGrandmother, Rosa Raggio came from Romaggi. The remainder of the people in that town are still Romaggi, and Raggio. We go, partly to honor our ancestors. And we like it.

Our favorite restaurant in Italy is a place in Romaggi. Really odd that; no parking, hard to get to, no signage, no publicity. Yet – folks drive here from an hour or two away just to eat there, as we do. It’s always clean, delicious, and packed.

When we were finished, we walked from one end of the town to another, approximately one city block long. On one end of this little narrow island of high flatland, is St. Michele, overlooking their part of the valley floor below.

We tried the door – locked. We walked around and took photos, remembering other times, and other folks we’ve met, somewhat frustrated. Then out walked a man, who was sporting a key. Did we want to go in? ( I hoped he said ) Si! When I don’t understand, I usually say yes, then see what happens.

We walked into the church, which had recently had a renovation paid by a man from New Jersey (whose mother had a house here) leaving over six figures in his will. The work had been done, and it shined, sparkled, and glistened with fresh paint, art and decor.

The trustee from NJ had fought the church fathers here to renew it according to the way it was. They wanted to do it up in white, no nonsense. He said – no original condition, no deal. It looks original.

As we were climbing into the campanile, John fell through a hole in the stone floor banging up his leg, but more importantly, he didn’t really hurt anything, and clambered back up to the bell tower, the campanile, through the tight little circular staircase. Total view of the surroundings from on high. Rumor was that it was a safe hiding place for occasions of barbarism, and it has a tiny discrete side door. Medieval.

As we left, the Custodian gave us his name. A big happy guy, he was so enthusiastic to share this beautiful church with us, and then told us his name was Enrico Romaggi, The name of our GGGrandmother!

What’s the chance?

Turns out that we met the one guy who might help us get the records for which we search – next year – when we return. We’ve been invited to their own festival, the previous week to Soglio’s festival. Sooooo, things may work out eventually.

Also, one last note. Our landlord in this B&B volunteered to take us up to a town called Costa di Soglio. It is an abandoned town, a ghost town, and we got a real lesson of what those abandoned residences looked like. They are a tumbled down mess, actually. It appears that people left their homes with the beds made, a TV on the table in one case, and a barrel cask – of something – in place, and just walked down the mountain.

The slate that is the essence of the mountains here are a main industry, and when China competed more successfully, there was no work, and people left. So some places are very ancient, and others more modern.

Slate builds these homes, walkways, roof tops, and floors. Everything here is made of hard and durable shale that delaminates, leaving walkways in broken shards that are texturally interesting. Concrete is much less interesting, but the Romans used it for durables, everywhere. There is probably a lesson here somewhere.

Lew on the other hand, also went to Rapallo, a seaside, riviera-style Mediterranean beauty. Judy did not. Grrrr.